


Across the ocean

by detective_terrible_detective



Series: Tales from Camelot and beyond [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - World War II, America bashing, Bombing, Gen, Hawaii, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Unrequited Love, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:49:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detective_terrible_detective/pseuds/detective_terrible_detective
Summary: While his friends fight a war in Europe, Arthur is stuck in America, watching from across the ocean. He longs to join them, but as the war draws closer, his wish may be granted.





	Across the ocean

America was so very different to England. Here, the war was something woman gossiped about over afternoon tea, instead of a bloody, brutal reality that tore lives apart.

~

Arthur was almost entirely certain that he was in America purely because Father didn’t want him to fight. He had been shipped to this bloody country under the pretence of ‘important business’ and ‘strengthening international relationships’. So far, he’d done nothing. Nothing.

His friends were away fighting a war. Leon, Percival, Lancelot, Elyan, even Gwaine. They were in Europe fighting, bleeding for their country. Morgana was fighting her own war—keeping the soldiers wounded in battle alive to fight another day. And what was Arthur doing? Swanning about America, going to luncheons and attending dinner parties.

He’d never hated Father more. To keep him from something such as this, this generation-shaping event, was a fate worse than death.

~

Morgana was dead.

Dead. His sister was dead. His sister. The nurse. Bombed by German cowards targeting a hospital ship. Gone. Sunk beneath the waves. And he was in America. Swanning about whilst his countrymen fought and bled.

~

They didn’t understand. The Americans—the fools—treated the war as though it were some game, an amusing pastime thought up by the clever Europeans. Something to distract them from their own little lives. Sitting through dinners filled with the over-dressed, arrogant, money-grasping men and woman that made up high society America, hearing the pompous, self-important discussion, Arthur thought it likely he would kill one of them someday soon.

He wasn’t entirely alone. He made an ally; one Ms Elena Gawant. She, like him, had been sent to America, out of harm’s way. At first, Elena had reminded him of Vivian—a cotton-headed ninny who had been a friend of Morgana’s at one point—but he had been pleasantly surprised when she had been able to hold a conversation with him. They had discussed all manner of things; the appalling way in which Americans treated the war, battle strategies, and—oddly enough—how best to skin a rabbit.

Together, they braved the dinners and the luncheons, the outings to the theatre, the visits to museums and gardens and galleries. American society whispered about them, the young, handsome heir, seemingly inseparable from the charming, beautiful heiress. Both he and Elena were clear with one another regarding their lack of interest in forming romantic relations. He didn’t know the reasoning behind Elena’s reluctance, but his was far away, over an ocean and living happily with the love of her life. He had accepted it, but he would never forget her. He had given her part of his heart, and it would live with her always.

~

They had formed a routine, Elena and he. They would arrive at events together, hanging off each other’s arms. After the obligatory greetings and introductions to various people, whose personalities ranged from hideously boring to utterly detestable, they would retire somewhere more private, sometimes with a bottle of something. It was regular, it was reliable, it was almost comforting.

After one such evening, Arthur had received a letter. A letter from Father. The first of the trip. Father did not make it a habit to write ‘meaningless drivel without a purpose beyond social expectations,’ and as such, letters from him were few and far between. He opened it, filled with the horrible expectation of terrible news. And the comforting regularity of his life came crashing down around his ears.

He was to go to Hawaii. He would be leaving the following week. He would be staying there for the indefinite future.

Hawaii.

Leaving.

Indefinite.

Arthur had grown accustomed to his life in America. He had accepted his punishment. He had met Elena. Elena. Who would not be accompanying him to Hawaii. He would be alone. Alone with the horrible Americans, who chattered and gossiped about the war tearing his country at the seams.

Completely, utterly alone.

~

Hawaii was as he had expected. At least, amongst the civilians. He was shocked to discover the presence of military on the islands. Battleships, aircraft, all the facilities necessary to aid the Allies in the war. Sitting there.

The luncheons were the same, as were the dinners. Full of self-important bastards trumpeting their opinions for the world to hear, ignorant of the truth. He spent his days on lawns and verandas, sipping drinks and playing croquet.

He had hoped to find another Elena; another ally amongst the enemy. No such luck. For a time, he thought he had found one in Sophia, but she and her father had been maniacs, threatening to kill him if he didn’t accept their offer of marriage. As such, he was alone. Alone, alone, alone. Without even the comfort of Morgana’s letters. Because she was dead, leaving him alone. Alone with the Americans.

~

He got into the habit of rising early. At that time of morning, everything was quiet. He could pretend. Pretend he wasn’t in America. Pretend there wasn’t a war. Pretend Morgana was alive.

He took walks, among the houses and empty streets, through the alleys and lanes, by the ocean and the beach, hearing the waves, feeling the spray of the waves against him. By the harbour, past the ships, the soldiers, the sailors. Sitting there.

Unused.

~

He was on his walk. No different to any other morning. The same ships. The same soldiers. The same sailors. The same. But so very different.

The planes. They had never come before. The bombs they dropped. They had never come before. The destruction left in their wake. That had never come before.

Arthur had found himself blown backward with the force of the explosions. He hit the ground. Hard. And there was something wrong with his legs. They wouldn’t move. And they were strangely numb. Unfeeling. Something dripped down his face. It came away red on his fingers. Struggling into sitting position, he looked out on the carnage. Ships, burning. Soldiers, burning. Sailors, burning.

Planes, returning.

Bombs.

And when they fell the second time, he didn’t feel anything.

~

America was not so very different to England. Here and there, the war was a bloody, brutal reality that tore lives apart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I had to kill him. He was in Hawaii, for god's sake. What was I supposed to do, let him live? What a ridiculous idea. But, in all honesty, I did it on purpose. Uther sent Arthur to America so that he would be safe, only for him to die anyway. Who knows, it might have been avoided if Arthur had gone to fight (lol no. He was always going to die). Also, apologies to any Americans reading. I have nothing against you, it's just Arthur holding a grudge.  
> As always, I want to know what you liked, what you didn't, and anything else from this universe you want to see. Sidenote: Don't expect any Merwaine for a while. It hasn't featured much on my list of ideas for this universe - it's all about random side characters.


End file.
